


Bleed All The Sweetness Away

by Zee



Category: Raven Cycle - Maggie Stiefvater
Genre: Alternate Universe - Hunger Games Setting, Lots of Stabbing, M/M, Making Out, Violence, mentions of abuse, wasp allergies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-03
Updated: 2015-11-03
Packaged: 2018-04-29 16:15:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,216
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5134097
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zee/pseuds/Zee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Gansey had so much more to lose than Adam did: a loving family, friends, a high station in life. Yet he was standing next to Adam now, both of them Tributes, resigned to the same fate.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bleed All The Sweetness Away

**Author's Note:**

> I tried to tag for this, but there is plenty of violence in here that goes way beyond what's typical for the Raven Cycle canon. A lot of that violence is carried out by the main characters, too.
> 
> I took liberties with the way wasp allergies work in real life and the way tracker jacker poison probably works in the Hunger Games canon. Sorry!
> 
> Thanks so much to niceiceprince (arisaema on ao3) for the beta. The title is from The Shins, "Kissing The Lipless."

Adam’s mouth went dry as bone when he heard his name called. The world retreated as he moved forward, as the noise of the crowd became a buzzing in his ears and the sun beat down as if nothing had changed. All he could focus on was the impossible blue of the sky. Somehow he made it to the podium, took his place beside the woman calling out the tributes. He could feel his brain struggling to catch up, to wrap itself around this new truth. He was District Twelve’s tribute, and he was probably going to die.

The woman pulled a second name, and Adam tried to come back to himself. “Ronan Lynch!”

Heads turned as everyone turned to look at the unlucky boy. Adam had a moment to focus on a boy whose face had gone ashen and whose eyes snapped like lightning, before another voice rang out, loud and tinged with panic. “I volunteer!”

The crowd buzzed. Everyone’s heads turned again to look for this new voice. The speaker was holding up his hand, and as Adam found his face in the crowd he yelled out again, stronger this time, “I volunteer as tribute!”

The other boy, Ronan, immediately yelled out “No!” but it was too late. The crowd parted around the volunteer and peacekeepers moved forward to escort him to the stage. Adam recognized who it was: Dick Gansey, the baker’s son, from one of the wealthier families in District 12. Adam couldn’t imagine what he was thinking, volunteering himself. It didn’t make any sense.

The other boy was still struggling and shouting, trying to shove his way through the crowd even as Gansey stepped up to the podium. Peacekeepers subdued him, grabbing him by the shoulders and forcing him to his knees. Adam was transfixed by his face, the helplessness and rage on it as the woman announcing the names went on and on about how exciting and special this all was, how it hadn’t happened in a decade, etc.

Gansey himself looked terrified. There were two bright spots of color on his cheeks and he was breathing hard through his mouth, and Adam had to look away because he could see his own fate reflected in the fear in Gansey’s eyes. But as his full name was called out, Gansey faced the crowd and lifted his chin, his jaw clenched. 

Adam couldn’t imagine loving anyone enough to volunteer to take their place in the games. The boy Gansey had volunteered for was crying now, tears streaming down his face and horrified disbelief in his eyes as he stared up at the stage. 

Adam could hardly believe it, either. Gansey had so much more to lose than Adam did: a loving family, friends, a high station in life. Yet he was standing next to Adam now, squinting into the sun, resigned to the same fate. 

Adam remembered vividly that moment years ago, when Gansey had handed him salvation in the shape of stale bread. Shame soured in his stomach every time he thought about it, and now here was Gansey, brown hair waving in the wind and strong baker’s shoulders sternly set, a glorious living reminder of Adam’s frailty and his need. 

Gansey looked like a victor. He’d never met odds that weren’t in his favor, and there was very little about him that seemed like it came from District 12. Adam wondered if the gamemakers might meet Gansey and slaughter Adam and the rest of the tributes on the spot. Was there any point in attempting to compete against him?

But when Adam pictured it, really thought about dying so that some other kid could live, he felt a hard grain of resistance sprout in his lungs. He wasn’t unfamiliar with death or pain. He was used to getting hurt, knew how to take a beating and live through it. He remembered what his body felt like at its weakest, when hunger made his own mortality take on a real shape. He’d killed plenty of animals, felt hot blood pulse over his fingers as he yanked an arrow out of a rabbit. 

He breathed out resolution. He wouldn’t be another dead child for their movie screens, just one more corpse from a poor district whose name went unremembered. He might not live through this, but he’d make a fucking impact.

The woman with the microphone was wrapping up the ceremony. Gansey kept waving until peacekeepers came to escort him away. Adam followed, staring at the back of Gansey’s neck, which was sweaty. They were ushered down the steps from the stage and into a dark corridor, and somehow to Adam it already smelled like death. 

***

Adam’s memories of the year before he learned to hunt were hazy. His father had been fired from the mines for being a drunk, and had taken his fury out on his family. Adam remembered being hit, and he remembered his mother looking at him with wide eyes that offered no solutions, and he remembered being hungry.

And he remembered the boy with the bread. He’d stopped outside the baker’s shop because he had smelled food. The scent hanging in the air made him want to cry out, made his stomach clench in on itself with want. He’d been twelve years old and skinny as a rail, crouching down behind a tree as he watched the baker’s son walking out of the back door of the shop carrying a large bag. He watched as the boy took burnt loaves of bread out of the bag and began tossing them into the dumpster, one by one. 

He tossed two loaves to Adam, one of which slid into the mud, and Adam humiliated himself by chasing after it. He hated the look of pity in the other boy’s eyes, and he wanted to yell or run away or throw the bread back, but he was too hungry. 

Adam didn’t know if he hated Gansey or just hated what he himself had been in that moment. Either way the shame of it burned in him like a fire set by his father, ate away at him until bread just served as a reminder of what he’d once been reduced to. 

He’d avoided Gansey at school. Gansey was more popular than him, was constantly surrounded by friends and acquaintances. In District 12, if you had enough money that you didn’t have to work in the mines it meant everything. It gave you a different destiny, meant you were worth something. Adam had been staring a mineshaft dead in the face for as long as he could remember, and he knew exactly what he was worth. Most days, he could barely stand to look at Gansey.

And now they were tributes, getting sent off to the games together. Now Gansey was one of twenty-three other kids that Adam would have to kill if he wanted to survive. 

Adam knew that he had it in him to fight, but he’d always been afraid of unleashing that part of himself, afraid of what he might see in the mirror if he did. Adam knew that his father’s father had lived a violent, rageful life before dying young and dissatisfied, and he was sure that his father’s father’s father was the same. He suspected that the line stretched back to before there were any districts. Rage and violence were buried deep in the soil he grew up in, and he often wondered if his father, before he started drinking and before he was fired, feared it in the same way Adam did. Had his father vowed he’d never be like his own father? Did he fight that tendency in himself before letting it consume him? Would his father hesitate before making the killing blow in the Games, or would his hand swing down as it always had upon Adam?

At least the Games would get him away from his family. This was the only positive that Adam could see. 

***

Everything happened in a blur once they arrived at the Capitol. It was overwhelming to Adam: the fancy and bizarre food, the makeup and body modifications, the way everyone fussed over him. He’d never been the recipient of so much attention in his life. 

He was exhausted by the time they introduced him to his stylist, Persephone. She seemed to realize this, giving him an understanding smile before gently ushering him into the fitting room. Adam tuned out the chatter of her assistants as they measured him but he couldn’t ignore her watchful gaze on him. Adam wasn’t used to people looking at him like he mattered, but it wasn’t just that from her--she looked at him like she was expecting something.

Adam didn’t know what anyone might expect from him. He didn’t even know what he expected of himself.

After getting fit for their costumes for the opening ceremonies, Adam and Gansey were shown to their quarters. Adam tried not to let his awe show on his face, but it was impossible not to react to the opulence. Gansey seemed to take it more in stride. 

“We’re celebrities now,” he said, running his finger over the back of one of the many plush-looking couches in the suite. “They have to treat us accordingly. I suppose we might as well take advantage of it.”

“You can take advantage of it, if you want. I don’t want this from them,” Adam said, too tired and out of his element to be anything but honest. “I don’t want to be pampered or treated like a celebrity.”

“You think I do?” Gansey was frowning at him, and Adam looked away. “It’s not as if we have a choice in the matter.”

 _But you had a choice in the matter, and you chose to come,_ Adam didn’t say. He hadn’t asked Gansey about why he’d volunteered, about who that other boy was to him. It didn’t matter. All that mattered was that no one had volunteered to save Adam’s skin, so here he was.

***

Persephone had a secretive smile on her face when Adam was led back to the costuming chambers. The ceremonies were starting soon; they were running late, but she refused to be hurried. 

“I think you’ll like what I’ve designed,” she said. She had a very quiet voice. Adam had to be paying close attention to hear her. “It’s unusual, but when I met you I thought it was fitting. You don’t hide your anger, do you?”

“I--what?” Adam said, surprised, but Persephone waved a hand dismissively.

“I don’t think you’ll appear angry to most of the viewers. Stoic, perhaps. But I can tell. I think this will suit you.”

She explained how the costume worked, showed him which button to press and when. Adam was still wondering what she meant with her ‘anger’ comment. He didn’t want people to see the fuses in him, just waiting to be lit. He didn’t want to be a mere copy of his father He didn’t want to seem angry, but more than that he didn’t want to be pitied, and perhaps that was what Persephone saw. At school, he’d always known that everyone saw him as the kid from the backwoods with the fucked-up family, and his only line of defense was lifting his chin and meeting their eyes with cool disinterest. He’d never tried presenting any other face to the outside world, but now he realized that his life might depend on doing just that.  
He met Gansey at the chariot. Gansey was dressed like he was, all in black. Neither of their costumes looked very impressive. Adam hoped that Persephone knew what she was doing. 

As their chariot entered the procession and the roar of the crowd met his ears, Adam found himself slipping back into the unreal place he’d been when his name had been called as a tribute. He felt like he was watching from far away as their chariot rolled forward and the people cheered. 

When he turned to the side to look at Gansey, he felt like he was looking at someone born and raised in the Capitol. Gansey was smiling, beautiful and charming, and waving at the audience as if he loved having them here. There wasn’t an inch of him that wasn’t the beaming young prince, perfect, a champion for these people to revere.

Next to him, Adam felt wilted and even angrier. He waved because Gansey was waving, but he couldn’t make himself smile. He didn’t know what kind of expression was on his face. He felt himself shrinking before the crowds, and he badly wanted to sink into the wheels of the chariot and get ground to dust.

When they reached the apex of the chariot track, Adam pressed the button as Persephone had instructed. Flames burst out, engulfing both of them and streaming out behind them, and Adam knew he wouldn’t get burned but it still made his breath catch in his throat. The crowd screamed and Caesar Flickerman gasped, saying something about how they were “sizzling” and “impressive.” 

Beside him, he felt the brush of Gansey’s fingers against his own knuckles. Tentative at first, so soft that Adam wondered if he imagined it, and then Gansey took his hand in a firm grip. Adam glanced sideways, but didn’t remove his hand. He let Gansey raise their hands together, his fingers clenching around Adam’s in a death grip. The crowd seemed to love it, and a curious sensation raced its way down Adam’s spine. Adrenaline flooded his mouth. 

He raised up his other hand, and out of the corner of his eye he saw Gansey do the same. When he turned his head, he saw that Gansey was looking at him, not the crowds. Adam held his gaze. The flames behind him weren’t real, he knew, but his body felt hot and parched at the edges as if they were. He felt as if he were in the midst of someone else’s ignition, the tinder being used to create a spark.

He looked away from Gansey and back at the crowd. Everyone was cheering for them. Caesar was saying something about District 12. 

Adam knew he should be smiling, but he couldn’t make his face do it. He squeezed Gansey’s hand because he didn’t know what else to do, and Gansey squeezed his back.

***

The bed in Adam’s new room was much nicer than the cot he was used to back home. He couldn’t sleep on it, or maybe it was just the culmination of a whole day of strange new experiences that was keeping him awake. He got up and made his way through the dark apartment, aiming for the set of stairs that he had seen earlier.

The stairs led up to the roof. When Adam got to the top, Gansey was already there, sitting down against the concrete wall.

The view was spectacular. Adam looked at it and his mouth tasted like ash.

“Couldn’t sleep, huh?” Gansey asked him when Adam sat down. Adam nodded.

“I don’t know how they can expect us to sleep,” Gansey said. “Or eat breakfast or lunch or… do anything, really, with the knowledge of what’s coming hanging over us.”

Adam gave him a sharp look. Aside from one abortive attempt to talk about it with Haymitch, this was the first chance they’d had all day to actually discuss the games. Adam didn’t know how much he wanted to say about it to someone that he knew he’d have to beat. Was it wise, really, for them to be friendly with each other?

“I guess,” he said carefully. 

“Have you been thinking about it? I can’t stop thinking about it,” Gansey said. He was twisting his hands together in his lap, his head ducked. “In just two days we’re going to be expected to kill all those other people we met today. And each other.”

“I’ve thought about it, yes,” Adam said. Gansey met his eyes, and Adam was the one who looked away first. Changing the subject, he asked, “You took my hand today, at the opening ceremonies. Why?”

Adam thought that Gansey might be blushing, but it was hard to tell in the darkness. “We were already getting all that attention from the crowd for the flames. I thought it made sense to do something to make us stand out and that was just… well, I suppose it was just what occurred to me in the moment. Did it bother you?”

Adam shrugged. “It was unexpected. But no, it didn’t bother me.”

“You heard the way it made them talk about us. Like we’re a team, like we’re standing together for something.”

Adam rubbed at his shoulders. Gansey was looking at him with a wide-eyed inquisitiveness, like Adam was something worth studying. “And are we?”

“I don’t know,” Gansey said. “I’ve only just met you. But I feel like perhaps we could be.”

Gansey said he’d just met him--did he not remember saving Adam’s life with a loaf of bread? The knowledge stung, that the incident that had changed Adam so much might not have been even a dot on the map of Gansey’s life. 

“Maybe,” Adam hedged. “Do you think it helped us? With the audience, I mean.”

“I think so. I think it was unexpected, and they like the unexpected.” Gansey smiled, a flash of bright white teeth. He had a smile that was from District 1, not District 12, a smile that fit right in with the Capitol. “They like it when things get shaken up. Must get boring, watching kids go out and die the same way year after year.”

Adam snorted. “I can see how that would get old. You want to mix things up with your deaths. Make it interesting.”

“Exactly.” Gansey sighed, and looked out at the Capitol. “They’ve been spoiling us so far. These ridiculous rooms, the amazing food. It makes it almost hard to believe what’s coming.”

Adam could never forget what was coming. He remembered watching the games last year: the final tribute had killed the last boy standing by decapitating him with a machete. He remembered the sudden gushing of blood, the surprised expression on the boy’s head as it rolled. That was what he had to prepare himself for.

“Why did you volunteer?” he asked. He hadn’t planned on asking, but he _was_ curious, and Gansey seemed open to talking.

Gansey stiffened, but he looked Adam in the eye. “Ronan’s my best friend,” he said, with a certainty that Adam envied. “I would do anything for him. And he has a little brother that he has to take care of. If Ronan died in the games, that would be it for Matthew. No one needs me like that, so I figured it was better for me to go.”

“How noble of you,” Adam said. It came out snide, which had not been Adam’s intention. The look Gansey gave him was a little hurt. “I mean--you must be a very good friend.”

“He didn’t want me to volunteer,” Gansey said, his voice soft. “He yelled at me about it afterwards. Told me that I was being stupid and self-sacrificing. Maybe I was. But I don’t care--it’s worth it, to me.”

Adam thought that it _was_ pretty stupid and self-sacrificing to volunteer as tribute, but he didn’t say that. Instead he gave Gansey a brittle smile. “Maybe you’ll make it out. Be able to go back to him.”

Gansey’s return smile was sad. “We both know that I won’t. If either of us has a shot at winning, it’s you.”

Adam blinked. Gansey seemed so sure of what he was saying, as if his own death and Adam’s advantage in the Games were foregone conclusions. Adam found it baffling. He would have predicted exactly the opposite odds, and he trusted his own judgment, so where was Gansey coming from? “Why do you say that?”

“I know how you are with a bow and arrow. And you’ve got a certain… quality. I don’t know, you just strike me as a survivor.”

Maybe Gansey did remember the bread after all. Adam looked back out at the city. “I don’t know. I think you’ve got a better shot at it, at least where sponsors are concerned. The crowd loved you tonight.”

Gansey laughed at that, a soft uneasy exhalation of breath that belied no humor at all.“Sponsors aren’t everything. This isn’t a popularity contest.”

“Not entirely, but sponsors matter. They can make or break a tribute, come on, we’ve both been told that.” Gansey’s humility annoyed Adam; it struck him as false. He wanted Gansey to acknowledge his good looks and charm and the grace with which he navigated the world of the Capitol. How could Gansey sit there and pretend that they were equals--worse, that Adam was somehow the one with the advantage?

Gansey said nothing. When Adam looked back over at him, he looked stricken. The charming mask that he’d worn during the opening ceremonies had fallen away completely. 

“Sponsors can’t save you if another tribute has a knife to your throat,” Gansey said. “I’m scared. I’m not just scared, I’m terrified. I’m going to die in these games, I can feel it, and I’m just--I’m not ready for that. I don’t want to die.”

Adam wasn’t prepared for this, this Gansey who wasn’t charming or charismatic or confident, this Gansey who was terrified. It made him feel naked to see it, even though Gansey was the one letting himself be vulnerable. It reminded Adam of the way Gansey had looked right after he’d volunteered: the stark fear that had been in his eyes then had returned to his face now. 

Maybe they were closer to equals than Adam had thought. Somehow this thought was too much for him to face, because he couldn’t acknowledge Gansey’s fear without tripping over his own, and that was a beast that would swallow him whole if he looked at it head-on. 

“You might not die,” he murmured. “There’s a chance you could win this thing. There’s a chance either of us could.”

Gansey’s laugh was horrible, abrasive and bitter. “There isn’t a chance, though, because for me to win I’d have to kill you. I know I can’t do that.”

Adam didn’t know what to do with this admission. What did Gansey mean by that--did he mean he couldn’t kill a person, in general, or Adam specifically? Adam didn’t know him well enough to make a guess, but either way, he was sure Gansey was wrong. All the tributes in every Games always killed each other, when it came down to it. Gansey wasn’t special, he couldn’t be. Whatever respect or affection he felt for Adam wasn’t that special. It wasn’t enough to save Adam’s life. 

Adam stared down at his hands, wrapped loosely around his knees. “You’d do it, if it came down to me or you. You’d do it to save your own skin.”

“You don’t know me very well yet, and you don’t know how I feel about you,” Gansey said, getting to his feet. “So I won’t try to argue with you about this. But you’re wrong. And I think it’s time to say goodnight.” 

Adam could feel his cheeks burning. He wanted to ask what Gansey meant, but Gansey was nodding to him and going back down the stairs, disappearing from view. This left Adam to sit by himself, staring out at the glittering Capitol lights, turning Gansey’s words over and over in his mind. 

Gansey felt some way about him, and whatever the hell he’d meant by that Adam didn’t have the capacity to contemplate it now, not when the Games would begin in a matter of days. He put the strange admission to the side, returning to Gansey’s words about the Games. Gansey was afraid--well, so was Adam. And he didn’t relish the thought of killing Gansey if that’s what it came down to. But unlike Gansey, he thought that he’d probably be able to do it if it meant staying alive, and that knowledge made him uncomfortable. Was that what it meant to be a survivor?

***

Adam watched the television screen with a slowly rising sense of incredulity. Gansey was still talking, but everything he said after his faux-shy admittance of “I’ve always liked him” blended into a dull roar in Adam’s ears. He stared up at the screen, disbelieving, only vaguely aware of Haymitch laughing next to him. 

This couldn’t be happening. This was pretty much the worst case scenario, what Gansey was doing to him now. Adam had managed to do well on the aptitude tests, he’d been told that the sponsors were looking at him with interest because he came off as ferocious and competent, and Gansey had just sent all that down the toilet with one interview. Adam’s hands clenched into fists at his sides.  
When Gansey walked out of the stage door and Adam had him shoved against the wall, he could feel the bob of Gansey’s adam’s apple against his forearm as he swallowed. Adam was seeing everything through a reddish haze and Persephone’s voice was dim, but he thought she was telling him to let Gansey go.

It was hearing the splutter of Gansey’s words, trying to explain himself even with Adam’s arm choking him off, that made Adam step back. He’d lost control, he’d let his whole family history control him in the space it took to pin Gansey to the wall, he hadn’t even tried to fight it. Guilt seeped through his pores once the adrenaline died down, and Adam had to blink and force himself to pay attention to what was going on around him. 

“He didn’t make you look weak. He made you look desirable,” Persephone said. Gansey was doubled over, coughing. Adam shook his head, not because he disagreed but because he was trying to think it through. Gansey had said, on camera in front of thousands, that he had a crush on Adam, that he’d liked him even before the Games. It didn’t make any sense. How could romantic feelings possibly matter in the arena? Who cared?

“The audience loved it,” Haymitch said. “You two have just been elevated above all the other tributes in their eyes. Star-crossed lovers who’d barely discovered each other before getting chosen as tributes, forced to fight each other.”

Star-crossed lovers. Adam suspected that his ears were turning red. He risked a glance at Gansey, who was still doubled over, staring up at Adam from beneath his bangs. He looked apprehensive, which Adam supposed was understandable, considering Adam had assaulted him. Guilt made Adam look away.

Persephone was giving him a look like she was waiting for him to catch up. “Don’t you see? Gansey wants you, so they want you.”

 _Gansey wants you._ Adam swallowed and glanced over at Gansey again. He had straightened up and was touching his throat gingerly, lips pursed. He met Adam’s eyes and raised his chin stubbornly, not apologetic in the least.

“You planned this?” Adam demanded. “You--it was deliberate?”

“Of course,” Gansey said. “I noticed how much they loved it when we held hands. I figured adding more fuel to the fire couldn’t hurt.”

Adam looked back at Persephone. She put a hand on his shoulder, squeezing gently. “You’re up next. Don’t undo the good work, all right?”

Adam took a couple of breaths to steady himself. His hands wanted to form fists again, though there was no fight to be had. He’d been wrong and three people were looking at him, waiting for him to admit it. Part of him wanted to shout that no matter what they said, this was still ridiculous and he wanted no part of it; this wasn’t the way for him to win, it couldn’t be. But he couldn’t fault Gansey’s logic. Glancing at him out of the corner of his eye, he managed to get “Sorry” out through gritted teeth. Gansey just inclined his head in acknowledgement. 

It was time for his interview with Caesar. His stomach flipping over itself, Adam stepped through the door and walked up the stairs leading to the main stage. He waited in the wings for what felt like forever but couldn’t have been longer than a minute or two, and then walked forward, into a flood of light.

“And here we have the lucky boy!” Caesar’s voice boomed out. “Take a seat, Adam, I’m dying to discuss the new tidbits we just learned about you.”

Adam sat in the seat opposite Caesar, his ass sinking down in the plush fabric. He tried to school his features into something approachable, friendly, something that people might want to see. He wasn’t sure it worked.

Caesar started with a few questions about what it was like being in the Capitol, what he missed most about home. Adam tried to give answers that he thought the audience might want to hear, and was surprised to find that some of his answers made people laugh--he wasn’t trying to be funny. It made annoyance flare up in his gut, because he couldn’t help the feeling that they were laughing at him, mocking him--couldn’t help feeling like his poverty was stamped across his forehead. He hated being in their spotlight.

Then Caesar leaned forward, a glittery look in his eye.

“So we just got finished speaking with Gansey, the other tribute from District 12. Were you watching that interview?”

Adam swallowed, trying to moisten his mouth unsuccessfully. “Yes, I was.”

“So you heard what he said, then. About having a crush on you.”

“Um, I don’t think he said that exactly, did he?” Adam said, looking out at the audience. They were tittering.

Caesar chuckled. “Oh, come on! We all know that that’s what he meant, don’t we?” He turned to the audience as well, and was rewarded with a cheer. “The boy is positively besotted with you. Don’t leave us on tenterhooks here! Are his feelings reciprocated?”

“Well…” Adam was stalling for time, he knew. Thinking furiously back to Gansey’s interview, he remembered what he’d said about noticing Adam in class, always wanting to talk to him but being too shy. “I never knew who he was, before he volunteered as tribute. But I think he was very brave to do that. And we’ve become… close.”

“Close!” Caesar howled. “There’s a word for it, I suppose! The two of you looked absolutely inseparable during the opening ceremonies--the way he grabbed your hand, with the fire behind you! So romantic.” 

“I guess.” Adam knew he was doing a terrible job of seeming likable, “desirable,” as Persephone had said. Gansey would have handled this whole interview completely differently, with so much more charm and confidence. “I wasn’t thinking it was romantic, at the time. It was just a very intense moment and he was a--he was my lifeline.”

“Your lifeline, wow.” Caesar clutched at his heart, giving the audience a beseeching look. “The way you kids talk about each other just rips at my heart. What is it going to be like, fighting each other in the arena when you’ve become so… ‘close,’ as you put it?”

Adam’s heart sank and he ducked his head, staring down at his hands, an automatic reflex to hide his emotions from whoever was looking at him. Except, no, he was supposed to show his emotions right now, wasn’t he? He looked up again, and knew that his anger was showing on his face, just like Persephone had said. 

“I don’t want to fight him. He doesn’t want to fight me. Yet that’s what we’re being forced to do. It’s not fair.”

Caesar’s grin slipped a little, but then he was immediately composed again. “But is any part of you excited to get out there and fight the good fight?”

“I’ll fight when I have to fight,” Adam said immediately. Seized by a sudden burst of inspiration, he added, “And I’ll fight to protect Gansey.”

The audience loved it. Caesar clapped his hands. “So determined, I love it! So you think that you two will be working together in the arena?”

Adam hesitated. He had gotten himself into hot water here: he didn’t know how Gansey felt about this, didn’t know if it was part of Gansey’s plan to stick together as a team in the arena. 

“It’s hard to predict what will happen once we’re actually in the Games,” he hedged. “But I know this much: anyone gunning for Gansey will have to go through me first.”

More affirmative noise from the audience. Crowing, Caesar turned to the cameras. “Adam Parrish, ladies and gentlemen! The Boy On Fire who will do anything to protect the boy he loves!”

The interview wrapped up after that. Adam stumbled off the stage in a daze, his thoughts still racing and the after-images of the stage lights blaring behind his eyes. When he stepped out from the stage door into the hallway, Gansey was right there, grabbing him by the shoulders. For a second Adam wondered if Gansey was going to shove him against the wall like Adam had done, but instead he was laughing.

“That was amazing!” he said. “I can’t believe you said all that. You had them all wrapped around your little finger.” Gansey’s eyes were shining and he was looking at Adam as if he were more than just a starving boy, as if he mattered. It was too much, and Adam felt himself flush.

He stepped back and away from Gansey’s hands. “I just continued what you started. It was a good idea. Sorry that I yelled at you for it.”

Gansey shrugged one shoulder and gave Adam a bright grin. “I could have warned you beforehand, I suppose. Sorry that I didn’t.”

Adam shook his head. “This is the least of things I haven’t been warned for, with more coming up. Don’t worry about it.”

“This could change things for both of you,” Persephone mused, her hands clasped together under her chin. “It’s an interesting narrative, the two tributes out to protect each other instead of the opposite. I think you’ll definitely get sponsors out of it.”

Adam locked eyes with Gansey, then looked away. His heart was already hurting with the knowledge that what they were selling was a sentimental lie: he wouldn’t do anything to protect Gansey in the arena, and Gansey wouldn’t be protecting him, either. Circumstances demanded otherwise. All these nice words would just be bloodshed, in the end. 

***

The next morning happened too fast. Persephone came for Adam before dawn, and after that it was a blur of eating breakfast, showering, and getting injected with a tracker in the Launch Room. Persephone gave him clothes that he would wear in the Arena and then they sat together, mostly in silence, waiting for him to be called to the surface.

“Do you want to talk?” Persephone asked softly when it was announced that they had five minutes before the Games began. 

Adam swallowed. “I’m afraid. I mean--that’s obvious, of course I’m afraid. But I’m not so much afraid of the other tributes as I am afraid that I won’t be able to do anything when the time comes for action. That I’ll just--freeze.”

Persephone smiled at him. “Maybe you don’t know yourself as well as you think you do,” she said, and her voice was so gentle, but Adam felt it like a hard slap. “I’ve already seen that you’re not the type to let your fear dominate you. I have no doubt that when the time comes, you’ll do what’s necessary.”

Adam shook his head. “How can you be so sure?”

She reached out, put a hand on his knee. It seemed odd, to get a physical gesture from someone who always seemed to float in her own world, intangible and separate. “How can you not be? Taking action starts from trusting yourself. No one else can do that for you.” 

Adam stared at the cold steel wall across from them, up at the circle in the ceiling where he’d be going in less than five minutes. He thought of the way Gansey had looked at him yesterday, the respect and wonder in his eyes. Did he trust himself? He didn’t feel particularly trustworthy. “I don’t want to die.”

She squeezed her hand on his knee, her fingernails digging in lightly. “I know. So fight.”

***

Adam was running as soon as the Games began. He heard fighting behind him, the meaty sounds of metal biting into flesh as the other tributes hacked each other to pieces, but he didn’t look back. Another tribute took off running next to him, and it occurred to Adam that he should probably try to kill her, but she was gone before he could think about how, running into the trees in an opposite direction from Adam.

He kept running until the noises of the fight had died down. He needed to find water. He needed a weapon. 

He wondered how Gansey was doing. It was possible he was already dead, and possible he’d already killed someone else.

***

Not long after Adam found a creek, another one of the tributes found him. He heard her before he saw her, and was standing and crouching, ready to fight when she crashed out of the underbrush, looking wild and hungry. 

For a second they froze, staring at each other. She had a knife strapped to her belt. Adam threw himself at her before she could get it out, and then they were rolling on the ground. She was strong. She got out the knife and slashed him across his forearm, which he’d held up to block his face, but he managed to disarm her.

Then he was underneath her and her hands were around his neck. Everything started to go dark before he flailed out with one hand and managed to find a rock, hitting her in the head with it. She fell to the side and Adam scrambled up with his rock still in hand, ready to hit her again, but she wasn’t moving.

Adam stood with his hand still raised, breathing hard. The aftertaste of adrenaline was hot on his tongue, and pain blazed in his arm where she’d cut him. He didn’t know if he’d killed her, or if she was just unconscious.

The spectre of his father loomed behind his eyes, and he tried to shove it down. He wasn’t fighting because he was angry or drunk. He was fighting to survive, and maybe that was turning him into a different kind of monster

There was no point in letting her live. If she lived, she’d just come after him again down the line. The thought of killing her while she was unconscious made his stomach heave, but it was the smart thing to do. And potential sponsors were watching: he’d look weak if he left her alive. 

The spectre of his father loomed behind his eyes, and he tried to shove it down. He didn’t want to think about what his father might do in his shoes. He didn’t want to be guided by the monstrosity within him. He was fighting here to survive, not because he was angry or drunk, and that was different--it _had_ to be. 

Adam took the knife from her belt. She was definitely still breathing. It made sense to kill her, it made sense, it made sense. And he couldn’t spend much time here deliberating over it. They’d made a lot of noise that other tributes might be drawn to, not to mention that this was a water source. 

Adam looked up at the trees, at the sky, where he knew the cameras were watching. Then he looked back at the other tribute. 

She was one of the tributes from District 7, he was fairly certain. He recognized her from their day of training, remembered watching her handle axes and knives as if she’d been born carrying them. She had seemed happy and focused with a weapon in her hand, driven. He couldn’t remember her name. He could only remember a few names of the other tributes: Cain, Simone, Bette, Harn, Thomas… some of them were already dead.

He leaned forward and slit her throat. Her body convulsed and she choked, her head lolling horribly. Adam jerked back immediately but blood still sprayed all over his hands and arms. 

He got to his feet with a roaring in his ears and stared as the tribute bled out in front of him. Thoughts whirred through his brain too fast for him to process, until every word in his mind blended into one long panicked mental scream. He barely had the presence of mind to tuck the knife in his belt instead of just dropping it. Then he turned and stumbled away toward the forest, but he didn’t make it far before tripping on a branch and falling to his knees. He fell forward until his palms met the ground and threw up until there was nothing left in his stomach, at which point he continued to dry heave. 

This was how Gansey found him, throwing up into the bushes with a fresh body nearby. Adam heard him coming but didn’t have the strength to stand, all his limbs shaky and loose. He stared up at Gansey, who was holding some kind of spear. Adam had never felt more vulnerable or defenseless. 

They held eye contact. Adam waited. Then Gansey dropped his weapon and stepped forward, kneeling to Adam’s level and pulling him into an embrace.

“Thank god,” Gansey said, and Adam could feel the vibrations of his voice against his own ribcage. “You’re all right, thank god, I’ve been looking for you! I was so worried. I was so--” Gansey cut himself off and held Adam tighter. Adam belatedly remembered to lift up his own limbs and wrap them around Gansey’s shoulders, although he was confused and still felt too weak to hold Gansey the way Gansey was holding him.

He didn’t know what Gansey was playing at. Their charade of mutual admiration had ceased to be relevant the moment the Games began. This embrace was pointless, this friendliness was just prolonging the inevitable.

He thought, fleetingly, of the knife tucked in his belt. If he made a move now, Gansey wouldn’t expect it, and that would be one less tribute to worry about. 

But the thought was almost laughable in its lack of connection to reality. Adam didn’t have it in him to murder someone who was embracing him like a loved one, and he especially didn’t have it in him to murder Gansey. Blessed, beautiful Gansey, whose charm and brilliant ideas were entirely responsible for the sponsors Adam had, who was only here because he’d volunteered to save his friend. 

Gansey was leaning back now, holding Adam at arm’s length and studying him. “You’ve got blood all over you. That girl--” he stopped, his eyes flitting over to the corpse before looking back at Adam’s face. “I take it you, ah--”

“Yes, I killed her,” Adam said, too sick to be anything but blunt. For a fierce moment he hated Gansey’s attempt at delicacy, hated that he didn’t want to come right out and say that Adam was a murderer and that he couldn’t handle looking at the body. “I think she was from District 7.” 

Gansey’s face was draining of color. “Oh,” he said, and Adam could hear everything in that one syllable: dismay, disappointment, horror and fear. “That’s--well. I’m sorry you had to do that.”

Gansey’s attempt at diplomacy made everything so much worse, and Adam felt his old standby, that familiar furious rage rising up to protect him. He wouldn’t be made to feel like a monster, even if he’d become monstrous. “What about you?” he challenged. “How’d you get that spear, anyway?”

Gansey looked away guiltily. “I got very lucky. I hid while two tributes went after each other. One of them killed the other one and then died from his wounds. I took the weapon he left behind.”

“Very lucky,” Adam repeated, unable to keep the bitterness from his voice. Of course Gansey would just chance upon his weapon instead of having to kill for it. 

“I’m not proud,” Gansey said. “I’m a coward, I know it. I haven’t had to do what you’ve had to.”

 

“Yet,” Adam pointed out. Gansey winced, but nodded. As he looked down, he noticed Adam’s arm, still bleeding.

“You’re hurt,” Gansey said, reaching out to touch Adam’s arm gingerly. “This cut is deep, we should try to bandage it somehow.”

“We,” Adam said, and he couldn’t keep the incredulity out of his voice any longer. “There is no ‘we.’ What do you think you’re doing, exactly? Why are you talking to me, helping me? You realize I could try to kill you _right now_?”

Color rose in Gansey’s cheeks, but there was a stubborn set to his jaw. “It doesn’t have to be that way,” he said. “We can work together, be allies. I can help you.”

He reached out to touch Adam’s arm again, and even though Adam could recognize it as a concerned gesture he jerked back, getting to his feet even though he was swaying, having lost more blood than he’d thought. Gansey thought that Adam needed him; he’d found Adam when he was weak, and wanted to treat him like some injured baby bird. 

“I’ll be fine on my own,” Adam said, his voice harsh and ugly. “We both know what happens to allies in the Games. Why postpone the inevitable?”

“Are you suggesting that we fight? Right now?” Gansey asked. 

Adam hesitated, but before he could respond, Gansey got to his feet and spread his hands, showing that they were clearly empty. “I’m not going to fight you. I don’t think I could, even if I wanted to.”

Adam barked out a laugh before he could stop himself. Gansey was presenting himself like some virtuous princeling, a gallant figure that wouldn’t dream of doing Adam harm. Adam would be insane to trust that, not here, not when Gansey had the same investment in killing Adam that Adam had in killing him. “Why? Because you have such a crush on me?”

Gansey’s gaze flicked over Adam’s shoulder before returning to Adam’s face. His eyes tightened, and Adam belatedly remembered the cameras. The audience. All the sponsors that he could be losing if he threw their romance back in Gansey’s face. Adam’s understanding of the situation lurched and he thought through this quickly: he had presented himself as a certain kind of person during that interview with Caesar, and the audience wouldn’t like it if he abandoned that persona entirely. Gansey, probably several steps ahead of him, clearly understood this.

Adam took in a breath to say something, apologize maybe, but before he could Gansey said, very simply, “Yes.”

Adam didn’t know what to do with that. It was too simple an answer for him to accept. He knew that Gansey was just saying it for the sponsors, for the narrative appeal, but that didn’t do anything to combat the buzzing in his ears. 

But it didn’t matter if Adam understood--he had to play the part. “You shouldn’t,” Adam said, taking a step closer. Surely Gansey could recognize the script here; it was one of the Capitol’s soap operas playing out. “I’m not worth risking your life over.”

“Isn’t that my decision?” Gansey stepped closer to him, too, until he was standing right in front of Adam. 

Emboldened, Adam reached out and grasped Gansey’s wrists. “This is insane,” he whispered, pulling Gansey in. It was obvious what had to come next. Gansey’s eyes widened and his lips parted; sweat was beading on his upper lip and there was puffy redness around his eyes. Adam’s mind was frantically cataloguing every detail as Adam leaned in, unable to stop overthinking even as he closed his eyes and let it happen. 

Adam had never kissed anyone before, so he had no basis of comparison. But Gansey kissed him carefully, like he was handling something soft and small. Adam didn’t know how it looked for the cameras. He felt awkward, doing this when he knew they were being watched, but if Gansey felt the same awkwardness he didn’t show it. His hand came up to cup Adam’s cheek and he pulled back, then kissed him again, shorter this time. 

When they stepped away from each other, Adam noticed a package floating down from the sky. A gift from the sponsors. When Adam opened it, he saw bandages and disinfectant.

He looked up, and met Gansey’s eyes. Whatever they were doing, the audience liked it enough to provide for them. 

It made sense to keep going with the charade, at least for now. It was clearly advantageous to partner up with Gansey and be his ally. They would have to keep kissing, too. Adam didn’t know how he felt about that, but now that he’d decided that Gansey wasn’t someone to fight, he could feel relief flooding his body, making his shoulders slump.

“Here,” Gansey said, taking the bandages and disinfectant. “Let’s patch you up.”

***

Once Gansey was stung, the tracker jacker venom acted fast. It was the fault of two tributes from District 8 and 9: the day after their first kiss, Gansey and Adam had stumbled into a clearing at the same time as the other tributes, who had immediately attacked them. The boy from District 8 (was his name Thomas? Adam thought that maybe his name was Thomas) had a gigantic machete that Adam’s knife was no match for, and the girl from District 9 had a spear similar to Gansey’s. 

Adam managed to tackle Thomas to the ground and slammed his wrist on a rock, breaking his hold on the machete. He had his knife in hand, ready to strike, when he heard Gansey’s scream.

The girl had shoved him into a tree with a tracker jacker nest hanging from its lowest branch. A couple of them were going after Gansey, and Adam heard a roaring buzz grow louder--the rest of the nest would soon be after them, too. The girl from District 9, pale as a ghost, backed hurriedly away and then turned and ran; Thomas, sensing Adam’s distraction, punched him in the jaw and struggled to his feet. He ran too, leaving Adam and Gansey alone with the tracker jackers.

Gansey was on his knees, yelling with his arms covering his face. Adam could already see painful welts swelling along his forearms. There were still only two attacking him, but that wouldn’t be the case for long. They hadn’t noticed Adam yet.

Adam could leave. It would look bad to his sponsors, one lover leaving the other behind, but he’d be saving his own skin. And it would be one more tribute down, one tribute closer to Adam walking out of this arena alive.

Adam remembered Gansey admitting on the rooftop how scared he was, how he didn’t want to die. He remembered Gansey’s charming smiles for the television audience as he confessed his secret crush on Adam. He remembered the way Gansey had looked at him after his own interview--as if Adam mattered, as if he were important.

Adam scrambled to his feet and lunged for Gansey, grabbing him by the shoulders and hauling him to his feet. Gansey was still screaming, his voice warped now into a hoarse screech, and Adam could make out the names “Ronan” as well as his own name, shouted over and over. He was hallucinating. Adam dragged him and Gansey stumbled over his feet, his body lurching to the side. They weren’t moving as fast as they needed to and the jackers had noticed Adam now. 

Adam swore and bent down, hooking one arm behind Gansey’s knees and lifting him up into his arms. When he stood up he felt a sharp, alarming pain in his back, and he knew that Gansey was too heavy for this, but adrenaline kept him moving. He ran as fast as he could, Gansey in his arms and the roar of tracker jackers in his ears. Gansey squirmed and flailed, and one of his fists caught Adam’s cheek, making him stumble. He pressed forward.

A tracker jacker got him in the back, pain blooming outward immediately once he was stung. He clutched Gansey tighter to himself and kept running as much as he could, except that the forest was warping around him, and now there was mist and fog and was that his father stepping out of the trees with a blade in hand--

Adam squeezed his eyes shut and shook his head. They were just hallucinations, that was all. He had to keep going, had to get Gansey to safety. He didn’t know how much longer he could carry him.

Adam didn’t realize where he was going until his feet splashed into water. It was enough to make him trip and fall, and he couldn’t catch himself because he was holding Gansey. They fell on each other, a painful tangle of limbs on the river stones.

Adam rolled to his side, the pain in his back driving anything else from his mind. His father was back, yelling something unintelligible and raising his fist, and Adam curled into the fetal position and covered his face as he had so many times before. The blurry face of his father shifted into the crying face of his mother, and then it was Gansey’s face, and then Gansey caught fire and his skin melted off his skull as he screamed. 

Adam had no concept of how long the hallucinations lasted. At some point his mind went blank and he became aware of the sound of running water; his ear and cheek were submerged in the creek. It was a miracle he hadn’t choked while under the tracker jacker’s influence. 

Sitting up, Adam saw Gansey sprawled on his back next to him. His eyes were open and his lips were parted, and he was staring up at the sky as if he saw nothing. 

“Gansey,” Adam said, clutching at his shoulder, but got no response. He waved a hand in front of Gansey’s face and he blinked, his eyes wandering then focusing on Adam.

“Adam?” Gansey’s voice was a shaky croak. He had welts up and down his forearms, but they weren’t as numerous as Adam had feared. Adam had managed to get him out of there before Gansey had been truly swarmed. Tracker jackers were lethal if too many got you at once, but if you just had a few stings then they were a temporary affliction: the hallucinations and the initial nausea were the worst parts; once that wore off, your muscles would be sore and you would feel feverish, but you’d be all right.

“I’m here,” Adam said. He shifted until he was on his knees with Gansey’s head cradled in his lap. Gansey stared up at him and coughed, his whole body shaking with it. Adam couldn’t help but smile, even though his whole body still hurt, even though Gansey looked like hell. They were still here, somehow. “You’re going to be all right. We lost the jackers.”

“No,” Gansey said, coughing again. “I won’t be all right. I--I’m allergic.”

“What?” Adam said, feeling the bottom drop out of his stomach. But he didn’t need to ask; he understood already, from the way Gansey’s veins were beginning to stand out in his neck, from the way his voice shook. He hadn’t saved Gansey at all. 

“To wasps,” Gansey said. “I would imagine that tracker jacker venom would be--would be even worse,” he said between coughs. 

“Okay,” Adam said, hating the slowness in his own voice, hating how it signified the beginning of panic. “We can--there’s got to be an antidote or something. Maybe Haymitch can--”

“You should leave me,” Gansey said. He was shaking all over and his lips were greenish at the edges. “I’m as good as done for anyway. The venom won’t take long to finish me off. I’ll be one less tribute for you to worry about.”

Adam smoothed damp hair off Gansey’s forehead. Some cold analytical part of him was taking the measure of Gansey’s words, considering the value of ‘one less tribute to worry about.’ Adam hardly paid that part any mind. “There’s no need to martyr yourself. We’ll get you through this.” 

He looked around at their surroundings. They were sitting in a shallow, rocky part of the creek, with trees coming in close on either side. A tribute could easily hide in those trees and throw a spear or shoot an arrow without revealing themselves. And they were at a source of water, which meant it was likely that other tributes would be coming here. 

“We need to find shelter,” Adam said, getting his hands under Gansey’s shoulders and prompting him to sit up. “We’re vulnerable here. Do you think you can walk?”

“Yes.” Gansey licked his lips, which already cracked and peeling. “I can walk now, but my motor function will decrease quickly in the next couple of days. Soon I’ll slip into a coma. Then it will be all over.”

Adam grit his teeth. “That won’t happen. Here, I’ll help you stand.”

Gansey could only walk very slowly. They filled up a pouch with water (another item that Gansey had taken from the fallen tributes he’d come across) and moved away from the creek. Gansey was too out of it to keep himself from making noise as they walked, and he stumbled over sticks, crunched leaves and listlessly shoved branches to the side. Adam was jumpy, knowing that they could be easily tracked and found. 

They walked until they came to a large boulder with smaller boulders and rocks scattered around it. Adam clambered to the top and found that there was a small space up there, a crevice big enough for two people but hidden from view if you were on the ground looking up.

Gansey couldn’t climb very well, so Adam helped him as best he could. Gansey slipped and scraped his knee on the rock when they were halfway up, hissing a curse between his teeth. Adam gripped his arm and supported him with one hand on his back, helping him keep his balance until he was finally able to collapse down into their little cave. 

Adam slid in next to him, wrapping an arm around Gansey’s shoulders. “How are you feeling?”

“Terrible,” Gansey said. The veins on his neck were beginning to look blackish. “Close to death, if I’m honest. I still think you should leave me.”

“Shut up,” Adam said. There was a voice in the back of his mind whispering that Gansey was right, that it was foolish to stick around and let Gansey burden him when there was no chance that both of them could survive these games. But they had come this far and when Adam thought about leaving, he felt his throat constrict as if he were the one dying. 

“We need an antidote,” Adam said. Gansey slouched to rest his head on Adam’s shoulder. “I’m sure they have those at the Capitol. Maybe Haymitch can wrangle one up.”

“The antidote exists, but it’s horribly expensive,” Gansey said. Adam knew what he was saying: it would take a hell of a lot of sponsorship to get one. They had their work cut out for them.

Adam touched Gansey’s chin and lifted his face so they were eye-to-eye. He kissed Gansey thoroughly, hoping to leave no doubt as to where his affections lay. He let his hand clench in Gansey’s hair and Gansey moaned, clinging to Adam. Adam licked his way into Gansey’s mouth and Gansey just took it, laid open for him, guileless and trusting. 

Adam’s eyes were only closed because he knew the cameras were watching. When he pulled back, ending the kiss slowly, he saw that Gansey’s eyes stayed shut, his eyelashes casting shadows on his cheeks. Adam wasn’t prepared for it when Gansey opened his eyes, when he stared up at Adam like Adam was responsible for his whole world. 

“I remember the first time I noticed you in school,” Gansey murmured, licking his lips. “It was in history. Ms. Granith called on you in class because you’d fallen asleep, and she expected to catch you off-guard. Instead you answered the question perfectly, and added more detail about the first Games than she had even asked for. You made her look like an idiot, and you’d only just barely woken up.”

Adam had a vague memory of that incident. Ms. Granith had sent him home for the day despite the fact that he’d answered the question right, and his dad had given him a beating for getting in trouble. He’d had lots of trouble falling asleep in class back then: it was when he’d just started hunting, sleep-deprived because he hadn’t yet gotten used to waking up four hours early.

“That was three years ago,” Adam said. 

“Well, what can I say, you were memorable,” Gansey said. Adam wondered why he didn’t mention the incident with the bread--was it to spare Adam’s feelings? Or did he really not remember? Either way, Adam was grateful. There were some things the audience didn’t have to know.

“I never thought I had a chance with you, to be honest,” Gansey said. He shifted until he was lying down, and after some hesitation Adam laid down next to him, his hip and thigh pressed flush against Gansey’s side as he propped himself up on an elbow. “There was something about you that just seemed… stern. Angry. It made us all want to give you your space, but there was something pretty sexy about it too.”

Adam felt his ears start turning red. He had never in his life thought the word ‘sexy’ could be applied to him. “Now you’re just trying to embarrass me,” he said, scowling and prodding Gansey’s shoulder. Part of him was performing for the audience, his scowl turning to a smile, touching Gansey in what he hoped was a flirtatious manner, but deeper than that this felt genuine, the most affectionate contact that Adam had shared with another person since he couldn’t remember when. 

Gansey laughed. “Seriously! You clearly never noticed the way people would look at you, and that just made it better.”

“You’re lying,” Adam said. “Come on. No one was looking at me.”

“I certainly was,” Gansey said, and the warmth in his voice made Adam feel like something was heating up and glowing inside of him. “In some ways I’m actually thankful to the Games. They brought me closer to you.”

“Don’t say that. I don’t want to hear that,” Adam said, and his voice was rougher, more clipped than he’d intended. But he couldn’t handle hearing Gansey say he was grateful for the Games, not when he was lying here dying, not when only one of them would make it out. Even if it was just a ploy, a romantic line to further pocket their sponsors, it was too much for Adam to handle.

“But it’s true,” Gansey said, and Adam had to kiss him again. Whatever had been glowing in his chest had turned into a creature of tangled knots, catching on each bone of his ribcage. Kissing alleviated it somewhat. At least when he was kissing Gansey, Adam didn’t have to struggle for some way to respond to his confessions. 

***

Adam woke early the next morning, when the sky was barely light, to see a small white parachute floating down from the sky. He clambered out of their crevice in the rocks, breathless with hope, and grabbed for it as soon as it was within reach. Kissing Gansey had worked: Haymitch had sent him the antidote. 

His hopes sank as he opened the package. It was burn medicine, some sort of salve. Useless to them. Was this some sort of joke? Incredulousness worked itself up into rage as he stared down at the box, and his arm tingled with the urge to hurl the fucking thing against a tree--

“What is it?” Gansey said, having stirred awake behind Adam. When Adam turned around to look at him, he saw that Gansey looked even worse than he had before sleeping: a sheen of sweat covered his face and he was horribly pale with a purplish tinge to his skin. The veins in his neck were definitely black now. 

Adam wordlessly showed him and watched the same series of emotions flicker over Gansey’s face: hope at first when he saw it was a package from their sponsors, then disbelief, confusion and anger. “Why would they--?”

The crackle of an announcement from above interrupted them. 

_There are only six of you left, two from District 12 and one each from District 5, 4, 1 and 6. Each district has been given an item that one of the other five desperately needs. District 5 has District 12’s item. District 12 has District 1’s item. District 1 has District 4’s item. District 4 has District 6’s item. District 6 has District 5’s item._

The sky above rippled until it showed a map, and with his heart in his throat Adam realized that it was a map showing each of their positions in the arena. Beside him, Gansey gasped, “No!” But it was too late: their precious safe spot was gone, emblazoned in the sky for all to see. 

_This map will be updated with your new positions at the end of each night,_ crackled the voice. Adam and Gansey waited, but there were no more announcements.

According to the map the closest tribute to them was the tribute from District 1, one of the career tributes whose salve they apparently had. Adam could only assume that the tribute would be badly burned, but his desperation might just make him a more ferocious opponent. 

The tribute from District 5, who apparently had the antidote Adam needed so badly, was near the Cornucopia. But Adam couldn’t leave to go after him, because that meant leaving Gansey here vulnerable to District 1. Gansey remembered his name: it was Marek. Marek, who they’d both observed during training, who had shoulders roughly twice the breadth of Adam’s, who fought like a ruthless machine. He was coming for them, and it was up to Adam to take him out. Adam felt choked by fear, a pure stark terror that he’d managed to keep at bay since the Games had started, but which now threatened to overwhelm him. He felt dizzy with it, swaying on his feet.

Gansey’s touch at his wrist steadied him. Adam looked up into Gansey’s concerned face, his thumb on his lip, his eyes searching Adam’s. 

“You should leave,” Gansey said. “You now have an advantage over all the other tributes, because you’re not actually in dire need of anything. I’ll act as bait for Marek and you can get out of here, start picking off the others while they’re distracted hunting down their items.”

Adam blinked and the world reshaped itself into something solid again. It was simple, really. “I’m not leaving you.”

“You’re being foolish! You know there’s no way we both get out of this alive!” Gansey took him by the shoulders, not shaking but simply holding him, his fists curling in the material of Adam’s tunic. “It’s nice that you’ve stayed with me so far but this is where it ends. You know the rules of the games as well as I do--hell, you were the one who first told me off for not fighting you when we first met up, remember?”

“That was then. That was before--before this.” His cheeks hot, Adam wrapped a hand around Gansey’s neck and pulled him in, kissing him. He didn’t know anymore whether it was for the cameras or just for himself, but he knew that he couldn’t leave Gansey in the same way he knew how his body worked. His heart pumped blood and his lungs breathed oxygen and Gansey was his to keep safe. That was how it worked.

Gansey pulled away from him, still angry. “This is the reason why you have to leave,” he said. “Because I can’t stand being your liability, I can’t stand knowing that I’m the reason you’re going to get yourself killed in these games when otherwise you could win the whole thing.”

“Give it up,” Adam said, his own anger rising to match Gansey’s. “I’m not leaving and nothing you say is going to change my mind. This is my decision to make.”

“Well, maybe it shouldn’t be. If you would just value your own life a little bit higher--dammit Adam, I might as well be a corpse already. And I’ve always known that this was how it would end for me, all right? With my allergy it was only a matter of time, even back home in District 12. It’s part of why I volunteered. But you, you’re worth something to the world, you _matter._ I can’t just let you throw your life away like this.”

Gansey’s voice had risen to a yell. He was breathing hard when he stopped, glaring at Adam. Adam worked to control his own temper, unclenching his fists and taking several deep breaths before he spoke.

“It’s my choice,” he said. “You might be right about only one of us surviving, but I’m not ready for that yet. We’re still a team as far as I’m concerned. I’m not going to abandon you, Gansey. Get that through your head already.”

Gansey’s shoulders slumped, and he looked away. Adam tried to take his hand, but Gansey shook him off. Silence hung in the air; Adam had no idea what to say to make any of this better.

An idea occurred to him. “Wait. What you said before, about being bait. That could actually work.”

***

They didn’t have much time to prepare, as Marek’s position was less than a mile away from theirs on the map. Gansey stayed in the crevice while Adam climbed a tree with branches that extended out over the clump of boulders. It made Adam nervous: leaves hid him partly from view, enough that Marek likely wouldn’t see him with just a casual glance up, but if he really looked Adam would be easily seen. 

They didn’t have long to wait. Soon Adam heard the crunch of sticks on the ground and Marek came into view, peering warily around a tree. Once he saw that the clearing was empty, he came out into full view, circling the boulder.

“Come out, lovebirds,” he called. He was carrying an ugly-looking mace, and he walked with a slight limp--Adam could see that one of his thighs was bandaged, and he guessed that that was where the burn was. Hopefully it would make it easier to take him down. 

Marek looked up and Adam shrank back, his heart thudding in his throat. But he wasn’t spotted, as Marek’s focus was on the top of the boulder, not the tree canopy. He started climbing up, and soon he would find the crevice, and Gansey. Adam readied his spear.

“Here you are. Hiding like a rat,” Marek crowed when he got to the top of the boulder and found Gansey, lying on his back in the crevice. 

“Here, you can have it,” Gansey said, holding up the salve. Marek grinned and grabbed it, tucking it hastily into a pouch at his side.

“Thanks for that. Still gonna have to kill you, though.” Marek raised up his mace, that savage smile still on his face, and Adam saw his opportunity. He threw the spear. It wasn’t his preferred weapon so his aim wasn’t as good as it needed to be, but it still connected, the spear running through Marek’s shoulder.

Marek cried out, stumbling in pain, and Adam leapt down with his knife in hand. Marek was already turning to him, and unfortunately the arm that Adam had speared was not the one that held the mace. Marek took a swing at him, wild and clumsy and not using his full force, but it still cracked into the side of Adam’s head and sent him sprawling, his knife clattering to the side. 

Pain roared through Adam’s head and the world went fuzzy at the edges. He managed to get to his feet, vaguely aware of blood trickling down his temple. In front of him, Marek was approaching, his mace held high. Adam didn’t know how he was still moving with a spear sticking out of his shoulder, but he was coming for Adam, relentless and bloodthirsty. 

This time the swing of the mace was slower and Adam was able to dodge and roll, throwing himself to the side where he could see his knife at the edge of the boulder. He grabbed it and was back on his feet, ducking under another swing of the mace and throwing himself forward to tackle Marek. When they both crashed to the ground it drove the spear deeper into Marek’s flesh before the wood broke, and he roared in pain. He tried to knock Adam off him but Adam was already driving the knife deep into his gut. 

Blood splashed on Adam’s hands and Marek let out a strangled, gurgling cry that would haunt Adam’s dreams for the rest of his life. The mace fell out of Marek’s hand and rolled off of the boulder, crashing to the ground below. Adam scrambled off him, stumbling to his feet. Marek curled around his belly wound, tears streaming down his face and his whole body convulsing. Adam could only watch with shaking hands as he died slowly.

Behind him, Adam heard Gansey struggling to climb out of the crevice--he was much weaker now than he’d been yesterday. When he saw Marek’s body, he turned his head to the side and threw up. 

Blood covered Adam’s forearms and spattered his tunic. He couldn’t hear out of his left ear, where the mace had hit, and his vision was blurry. He fell to his knees, wondering vaguely if he was about to pass out. It didn’t seem like that pressing a concern.

“Adam. Adam, no, you can’t sleep.” Those were Gansey’s hands on his shoulders, Gansey’s fingers lifting his chin. Adam opened his eyes to stare into Gansey’s own, full of concern. “You’re definitely concussed. You should stay awake.”

“Right,” Adam said, his voice slurred and unrecognizable to his own ears. “Your antidote.”

“You can’t be thinking of going after District 5 in your condition,” Gansey said. He squeezed Adam’s shoulder and ran his other hand through Adam’s hair, comforting gestures. “You’re lucky that blow didn’t kill you.”

“I’ll be fine. You’re the one who’s dying,” Adam said. They were both kneeling; he wasn’t sure that Gansey could stand, at this point.

Gansey laughed, a shaky and slightly hysterical sound. “Fair point, I suppose. But really, you can’t possibly be thinking of going after the antidote now? They’ll make mincemeat out of you.”

Adam shook his head. “I can take care of myself. He can’t be worse than Marek.”

“Jesus, don’t say that.” Gansey said. He clutched the back of Adam’s neck and touched their foreheads together. His breathing was ragged and loud, and the touch of his hands was a sunrise after a long cold night. Adam felt Gansey’s lips brush his forehead, then kiss the side of his head where the mace had connected. Adam closed his eyes and leaned into him. 

***

Getting the antidote turned out to not be nearly as difficult as defeating Marek. The tribute from District 5 (was his name Alex? It could have been Alex) was gone when Adam went to his spot near the Cornucopia, and when Adam went to go look for District 6, figuring that Alex must have taken off to retrieve his own item, Adam found Alex’s dead body with District 6 nowhere to be found.

Thanks to some miracle, Alex had the antidote on him, tucked into a bag that was strapped to his waist. Adam could hardly believe his luck. 

The sun was going down by the time he returned to Gansey. Gansey took one look at Adam’s excited face and threw his head back and laughed.

“I can’t believe it. I can’t believe it! Adam, you’re marvelous, magnificent, you--I can’t believe it--” 

“You’re going to live,” Adam said, and kissed him. 

***

When the time came, Adam found that he wasn’t actually all that afraid of death. Gansey was. Adam could see the fear in his eyes as he lifted the lethal berries to his lips, could see that he didn’t want to do this but he would go through with it for Adam. 

“On the count of three,” Adam said, his voice cracked and dry. “One.”

Gansey nodded, his eyes locked with Adam’s. It tore at Adam’s heart to know that Gansey trusted him this much, that he was ready to throw his life away on a gamble with him. Of course, the alternative was that one of them would have to kill the other, and that was no alternative at all. It was better to go out this way, on his own terms or not at all, than to sacrifice everything that made him human by killing Gansey. 

“Two,” Adam said. He watched Gansey’s adam’s apple bob as he swallowed. “Three,” and the berries were so close to his mouth that he could almost taste them when a voice crackled above them, declaring the two victors. 

***

Everything after the hovercraft took them from the arena was a blur to Adam. He and Gansey were separated, then Capitol doctors sedated him, and when Adam woke up he had a thick bandage wrapped around his head with a second bandage covering his left ear. A tube was connected to his right arm, feeding some sort of liquid into his veins. 

Persephone was sitting at his side. She smiled at him when Adam turned to look at her.

“Welcome back,” she said. 

Adam coughed. His body felt new to him, each nerve tingling. “Where’s Gansey?”

“In another hospital room recovering, same as you. The antidote you gave him did a lot to counteract the tracker jacker poison, but he still needed a higher dosage administered.”

“But he’s all right.”

Persephone reached out to cover Adam’s hand with her own. “He’s going to be fine. So will you, although that was a nasty head injury.”

Adam remembered the crack of the mace and winced. His left ear throbbed. “It messed with my hearing.”

“Yes, you lost hearing out of your left ear. That would have been permanent, but the doctors were able to replace the eardrum.”

Adam could only barely comprehend the kind of meticulous surgery such a replacement would have required. Apparently the Capitol was capable of anything. 

He leaned back, staring up at the ceiling. The Games were over. The Games were over, and he and Gansey had won. He was lying in a bed indoors. There was a soft pillow beneath his head. The Games were over.

“Adam,” Persephone said softly, and Adam realized that his cheeks were wet. She squeezed his fingers, grounding him. “You did so well. You went above and beyond what any of us could have hoped. I’m very proud of you.”

Adam couldn’t speak to thank her. He was remembering the soft sound of his knife sliding into Marek’s gut and the way blood had spurted from District 7’s neck when he slit her throat. It all seemed so horribly close. There was no reason for Persephone or anyone else to be proud of him; he’d shown the world what he was: worse than his father, worse than anyone. Not a survivor so much as a killer.

The tears came harder, turned into sobs that wracked Adam’s chest. He clenched the hand that Persephone didn’t hold into a fist and brought it down on the edge of his hospital bed, making the plastic shudder. He did it again and again. He vaguely realized that he was growing hysterical, breaking down, and out of the corner of his eye he watched as Persephone reached below the edge of the bed to press on something. Not long after, he felt consciousness slip away. 

***

The cameras were rolling when Adam was allowed to see Gansey again. Persephone stood behind him backstage, one hand on his shoulder. Haymitch stood at his other side.

“You have to sell it as hard as you can, now that yours is the love affair that beat the system,” Haymitch muttered. 

“This is the boy you were ready to die for,” Persephone murmured, letting her hand slip from Adam’s shoulder as one of the cameramen started counting down in front of them. “Just remember that.”

Adam wasn’t in any kind of romantic mood. All he felt was a deep-seated urgency to ensure that Gansey was alive and whole. Of course he’d known rationally that Gansey was fine, everyone had told him this, but he had yet to see it with his own eyes. He’d spent so much of the Games trying to keep him alive that he could still feel the weight of that responsibility bearing down like a boulder on his back. 

Now his responsibility was different: convince the world of his love for Gansey, or face the consequences. It wasn’t like in the arena, where they were kissing in the hopes of sponsorship. The stakes involved other people now--all of their loved ones were in danger if they couldn’t convince the public that they were just two people in love, not two people who had conspired to trick the Gamemasters. 

The cameraman counted down to zero and the door in front of Adam opened. Across the stage, he could see a similar door opening to reveal Gansey. Adam’s heart beat like a butterfly’s dying wings, and he forced a tired smile onto his face as Gansey ran toward him. Gansey was here and whole, embracing Adam, and for all Adam’s apprehension he found that he didn’t have to fake a thing when he hugged him back. 

***

Once they boarded the train back to District 12, Adam didn’t see Gansey for several hours. Already he could barely remember the filmed reunion, the final interview with Caesar Flickerman. He felt like the boy who could fit in in the Capitol, who could smile for the cameras and kiss Gansey in front of a cheering audience, was someone utterly different from the boy who lived and hunted in District 12. He didn’t know what kind of person or what kind of life he was returning to. Maybe Gansey felt the same way, because Adam had a difficult time tracking him down inside the train.

He finally found Gansey on the caboose platform, leaning on the railing and staring out at the tracks they were leaving behind. He tensed and whirled around when he heard Adam make a sound behind him, only relaxing when he saw who it was. Adam understood: he’d had a hard time with his surroundings since the Games, too.

“Hey,” Adam said as he joined Gansey on the platform. The railing felt cool beneath his fingers. 

“Hello,” Gansey said. 

Now that Adam had found him, he didn’t know what to say. He half-expected Gansey to put an arm around him or try to kiss him or something, but Gansey kept his hands to himself. 

“They’re not going to stop filming us,” Gansey said. “They’ll want to get some footage of us moving into the Victor’s Circle, I suppose. And maybe some of us with our families.”

Adam thought about his father hugging him on camera and felt queasy. He had avoided thinking about living in the Victor’s Circle with his parents thus far. Part of him hoped that his father would be better now that they were going to have money, but most of Adam was too smart for that.

“Wonderful,” Adam said. “God, I’ve had enough of being on film. I could happily go the rest of my life without having a camera shoved in my face.”

Gansey laughed, a sweet low sound. He touched his thumb to his lip and Adam’s stomach twisted. “I definitely share that sentiment.”

Adam wanted to know if Gansey had trouble recognizing himself in the mirror, like Adam did. He wanted to know how Gansey felt about going home to his family. He wanted to know what would become of them now. It felt different to be standing beside Gansey here than it had to fight beside him in the Games. There was some sort of wall between them that Adam didn’t know how to breach.

“All those things you told me in the Arena,” Adam said abruptly, speaking before he’d given himself permission to. “About your--your crush on me.” God, it felt unbearably awkward and trite to be talking about crushes after what they’d been through. “Was any of it true?”

Adam watched Gansey’s chest rise as he took in a sharp breath. “Yes,” Gansey said, turning to face Adam with earnest eyes. “I’ve felt that way ever since--um, I don’t know if you remember this--”

Adam closed his eyes. _Don’t say it--_

“--I tossed you some stale bread, because you looked--well, I thought you needed it. That was a long time ago, I suppose. We were just kids.”

Adam turned away, his body turning to ice. It was complicated, everything he felt upon hearing Gansey acknowledge that horrible vulnerable moment. It was complicated, so he let anger shield him. “I remember. You felt sorry for me.”

“I--thought you were hungry?” There was bewilderment in Gansey’s voice, like he couldn’t understand why Adam was suddenly cold. “I knew who you were, after that. I always looked for you at school and you always held yourself apart from everyone, like you were different.”

Adam _had_ been different, he’d been the poorest and most pathetic in a district composed entirely of the poorest and most pathetic that Panem had to offer. He wished that Gansey would just say it. Adam had been different, and Adam was still different: they were both Victors, they’d both get fancy houses to live in, but Adam was still a Parrish. The Games hadn’t changed his blood.

Adam turned to leave, but Gansey caught his arm. “Wait. You can’t just go. What about you? Was any of it… real?”

Adam shrugged his off. “I nearly died for you, Gansey. I killed for you. I kept us alive.”

“I know that.” Gansey’s voice was rising, as anxious as Adam was stony. “You think I could forget that? I’m not talking about life-or-death. I’m talking about the damn kissing.”

Adam finally turned back to face him. “That was life-or-death, too.”

Gansey recoiled as if Adam had slapped him. “I _know_ that,” he said again, but he was deflated now, miserable. 

Adam’s chest hurt. He wasn’t even sure why he was so angry. He wasn’t even angry at Gansey, not really. He wanted to lean over the edge of the fucking train’s fucking caboose and scream until he had no breath left.

And he didn’t know what to say about the damn kissing. He didn’t know what he was resisting. This time, when he turned to leave Gansey let him.

***

On their second night of train travel, Adam woke from a nightmare screaming. He could still feel the blood coating his palms, still hear the last gurgling gasps of breath as Marek died. He was still in the Games, right there fighting for his life, and it felt so much more real than the walls around him and the soft bed beneath him. He gasped as he struggled to make sense of the darkness of his room, as his blood pounded and sweat cooled on his skin.

His door creaked and a shaft of light entered the room. It was Gansey, coming in and then closing the door softly behind him. He stood there, completely in shadow, and Adam waited for him to speak. 

“Are you all right?” Gansey said, his voice barely audible. Adam swallowed, wiping sweat from his brow. His hand shook.

“I’m fine,” he said, but his voice betrayed him. He sounded like a shadow of himself. 

The bed creaked as Gansey sat down on the mattress, close enough for Adam to reach out and touch if he wanted. “I have nightmares too,” Gansey said, and something inside Adam was breaking and surrendering. When Gansey held out his arm, Adam went to him, pressing his face to Gansey’s chest and letting him hold on.

They stayed like that for several moments, silent but for the sound of each other’s breathing, Gansey’s chest moving up and down against Adam’s cheek. Adam was the one who broke the silence.

“I meant what I said before, about life-or-death,” he said. “But that wasn’t all of it.”

“Oh,” Gansey said quietly. He wasn’t hiding anything, and Adam could hear the hope in his voice, as well as the uncertainty. “I thought--I wasn’t sure.”

Adam had no idea how to say what he needed to say, and he was too worn out to even articulate it to himself. For once his mind was quiet, still in shock from the nightmare, and he let himself move on instinct. 

He lifted his head, and Gansey’s face was right there, his eyes wide in the darkness. Adam kissed him. Gansey made a small noise of surprise before relaxing into it. 

It felt different this time, lacking an audience and the pressure of a deadly situation. Adam took his time, cautiously feeling out this new territory. Everything was fragile and his heart was still pounding, from the nightmare or from Gansey or both.

They pulled back after a while and the silence felt thick, awkward. Gansey’s hand was soft on Adam’s upper arm, his thumb stroking Adam’s shoulder. Adam felt afraid and exhausted and tense and full of longing. He spoke because Gansey wasn’t speaking. 

“Is that--enough?” _Do you hear what I’m trying to say?_

Adam saw a flash of white teeth, Gansey smiling. “Yes, god, of course,” Gansey said, and kissed Adam again. 

This time when they parted, Adam settled into Gansey’s side. It was strange to be kissing Gansey in the dark on a bed, instead of in a cave while cameras watched. Soon the cameras would return, and they wouldn’t have much of a choice about their feelings: they’d have to be properly in love, or everyone they knew would be at risk.

They spent the night together, silent for the rest of it, neither sleeping nor truly awake. Flashes from Adam’s nightmare kept occurring to him, but he was able to keep them at bay. The weight of Gansey’s body at his side was the only real thing in the world. Adam didn’t feel safe, couldn’t feel safe, but he did feel something like home.

**Author's Note:**

> But you've got too much to wear on your sleeves  
> It has too much to do with me  
> And secretly I want to bury in the yard  
> The grey remains of a friendship scarred
> 
> You tested your metal of doe's skin and petals  
> While kissing the lipless  
> Who bleed all the sweetness away
> 
> -"Kissing the Lipless," The Shins


End file.
